


What I did for glory

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, Gen, Regret, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), bad life choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 20:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Lucius has regretted much in his life, but none more so than this.





	What I did for glory

**Author's Note:**

> This was entirely unintentional, but when the world is collapsing what better way to get over it than to write. 
> 
> Completely inspired by and written to the song 'We have it all' by Pim Stones

Lucius regretted so much, but He had offered them the possibility of immeasurable splendour, grandeur, glory, impossible dreams they foolishly believed would come true.  
But the possibility wasn’t enough. Oh, it should have been, but he wanted actuality, materiality, he wanted it to be a reality. They should have been happy by what they had, but when you had so much, what was a little more? His silky words convinced him you could never have too much, that a little more would never hurt. Lucius had believed that seditious demagogue, with his honeyed whispers and sophisticated prose, with his elaborate visions that seemed so easy to obtain. Lucius could see now he was weak, spellbound by everything He had represented, the hopes, the visions, the illusions of brilliance He made come alive before them. His ophidian tongue could spin so many saccharine stained stories, and Lucius thoughtlessly fell for every single one.  
Besides, He didn’t want much in return and it would be worth it, for him, for her, for their future. Just a simple favour now and then, and an ugly mark at his forearm, and they could live their superficial lives however they wanted, they could have everything and anything, they would be worshipped, and feared, and admired by everyone. It was a simple promise and Lucius had tasted true power and it was addictive, compulsive, exciting. Made him proud to have opened his heart to such capability. They were on a new frontier of existence, ready to be crowned royalty of the new world, then it had all come crashing down.  
When He had fallen Lucius had adapted and they’d gained everything, more than He ever could have offered them. In those years Lucius had come to know what real influence was, that manipulation from inside was just as satisfying as from the outside, that dreams could come true without the need for constant violence. They’d never had so much, the brilliant excess of it was overwhelming, crystal chandeliers and marble staircases, rarities surpassing all belief and diamonds dripping from the walls. Their entire existence was soaked in champagne and wrapped in white silk. Impeccable reputations turned their visions to rose gold, gave them things they thought they would never lose: bestowing on them the esteem and the admiration of everyone they met. It let them build a dynasty from the ashes of a corrupted world, let them be the saviours of humanity that they had always wanted to be, let them have everything they wanted and more: beauty, luxury, extravagance. Everything looked so pretty in their silver-plated actuality, rooms overflowing with opulence, bathing the world in a lavish excess that seemed to be endless. They were what everyone wanted to be: a beautiful, successful, wealthy couple, and they were happy because everyone said they were. 

It was a compelling misconception whose true form only came to light when He returned. When the world went sour and their pretty world dissolved before their eyes. Gone was the surreal illusion and in its place, the painful reality of a fantasy rotting from its core was revealed. It was obvious what they had sold their souls for was no longer worth the price. Their expensive lives were rotting, decaying before them and no one ever seemed to see. The ordinary mortals never saw that their expensive dream was conceived on a butterfly’s wing, so fragile, so delicate, able to be blown away at any moment. If you looked closely you could see the horror that was starting to crawl from beneath the carpets. The mould that slid down the wallpaper and the blight that affected every corner. A mildew settled on their tongues and decayed every inch of their lives. The house smelled of rot, decaying wood and a putrefaction always filled the air. Lucius had tried to be careful, but His world was like a maze in a marshland: devious and deceitful, every turn filled with cruel deceptions that would lead to nasty surprises. It was so easy to lose your footing, to fall into the mire of his dreams and drown in your own indulgence. Not that He would let Lucius die, there would be no sense in that, it would be the easy painless way out and He didn’t like painless solutions. Instead, He would keep him forever on the edge, balanced between life and death, forever reminding him of his weaknesses and of his eternal promise whose contract still blemished his forearm. Lucius learned too late, once you were in His web, there was no way out, he was trapped but he thought he knew better. Thought he could navigate the endlessly shifting maze; thought he was in control and could get out whenever he wanted and that he could be free. That was an illusion. You were never free. Money and status meant nothing anymore, loyalty was the new currency and he had none left to give.

Ever since this had all begun Lucius had understood he would spend an eternity in purgatory waiting for his soul to be cleansed, if it ever could be washed of such sins, such moral transgressions, but as much as he had understood his fate, he had never meant to drag everyone else down to those monstrous depths. Had never consented to his wife and his son being submerged in this filthy world. But he had sold his soul and their fate was no longer his own to prescribe, and he was reminded of that simple wretched fact every time his gaze fell on that vile mark that still ordained his future. It was the constant reminder he was not his own man, that he belonged to another, greater power, that he had sold his soul for a fleeting dream that had now warped itself until it was now an unrecognisable nightmare. That dream was dead, and it had died years ago, now reality was nothing more than a lurid delusion he always begged to wake from, though he knew he never would.  
Lucius had nothing, they had nothing, he was nothing and he had made them nothing. He had dragged them to the very depths of humanity and here they would rot amongst the violence and the horror and the monsters he had prayed his son would never have to witness, let alone know the names of. Living with that knowledge was far worse than any death Lucius could ever envisage, and how He knew, how He prized it, mocking their suffering, Lucius’ suffering. Morbidly relishing his endless shame for believing in the impossible, for selling his soul at such a low price.  
Lucius regretted so much, but nothing more than losing them everything they had held dear for an ephemeral vision, dragging them all to their social deaths for a transient moment of glory. But he had, and now he had to live with that forever.


End file.
